


A Long Way Gone

by BendyDick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After Reichenbach, Drug Dealing, First Person, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Murder, Torture, crazed Seb, noir, prison!lock, terrible world stuff because it's mormor and that's what happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:43:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5803186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BendyDick/pseuds/BendyDick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian has escaped from jail and hot on the trail of his old boss who is missing and presumed dead. What he finds at the end of the goose chase had better be worth it because Sebastian is done playing games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long Way Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Publishing what I have written so far. If you like, please leave comments and kudos. I live for attention.

“There’s only so much patience a guy can have you know?” I say in a slow voice, my lips twitching up to grin at the cop sitting across from me. 

“Like the men waiting on the benches outside stores in the mall, I bet when they get home they are the ones that snap, hit their wives and make a scene. It’s all about patience. I like to think that I have infinite patience. I can sit and sit, wait for the perfect moment, but the truth is that I’m waiting to explode. I’m waiting to get that first punch in so I can watch the chaos commence. It’s not that I have patience… it’s that I’m in addict. I’m addicted to the blood, to the coppery smell that fills the air though usually I’m too far to smell it, I still feel as though I can. I swear I can taste it too. That salty but flat, almost sweet flavor; it stays with you.” 

The cop glares at me but I look past his head and continue, “I remember when I was a kid, I told my father to fuck himself. See, he was a real piece of work; a politician with the fancy house and fancy car and the child that wouldn’t listen. Well, he didn’t like my sass much; he punched me so hard in the face that my cheek burst open like a water balloon. He made me wait for half an hour while I kept spitting out mouthfuls of blood. He told me it’d patch up own its own. It didn’t. Took five stitches to get the fucker to stop bleeding. I’ve never forgotten the way my blood tasted or the way it smelled.   
That was probably the first time I realized I was wired a bit different. Most kids would have learned not to do that again, me, I learned that I could get him to make me bleed. I started talking back twice as much just to see how bad I could get him to hurt me.   
When I realized I didn’t have to wait until my dad got mad to see blood I felt like I had found heaven. I was walking home from school and found a dead bird. Some biker must have tried to miss it and failed because the baby bird had a tire track straight through it’s little gut. All the bird’s organs had been smashed out either end and it just laid there in a puddle of it’s own blood and intestines. I had a good ol’ time poking at until some neighbor saw me and freaked out.” I paused for a moment then looked back at the man’s face and finshed, “she freaked out more when she realized I killed her cat.” 

The cop was staring at me in bored disbelief. His foot was tapping the concrete floor of the interrogation room in a rhythm that was just as dull as the man’s annoyingly average face. I smiled wider, attempting to look friendly though I know there was nothing friendly about either of our moods. He knew I was stalling and I knew I was pissing him off, which was the most fun I’d had in weeks. They really should invest in a little bit more entertainment for the inmates if they didn’t want these sessions to go on for so long. See, it seems to me all these pent up policemen are just as bored as I am. Everyone is bored, just waiting to be excited. 

I flexed my wrists in the cuffs checking their strength. I’ve always enjoyed the way metal bites into my wrists. It’s a pleasant kind of dull pain that radiates up to my shoulders and I pull the metal tighter across my bone. I feel around for the small toothpick I’d plucked out of a kitchen trashcan during my last shift as slop boy. The stick was hardly good for anything but I’d learned a few tricks after a couple unpleasant nights of waking up to find I was covered in nice thick welts and still chained to God knows who’s bed. 

My eyes focus back on the cop and then down to his foot that’s still tapping against the ground. “Am I boring you,” I ask, tilting my head to the side and blinking slowly. “It’s very rude to be falling asleep while someone is telling a tale. My father would have caned you.” 

The cop pinched his forehead between his thumb and index finger and groaned. “I know you are stallin’-” 

I gasp, mocking offense and shock. The tooth pick clicks and I feel the metal relax on my wrists. “Why would I be doing a thing like that?” 

The cop slammed his hands against the table and bellowed, “Where is he?” 

“Where is who?” 

“Moriarty! Jim! The spider. The man you said you knew!” 

I smile and shake my head gently. It’s hard not to be amused by the glowing red in the little mans cheeks. I’d probably have to get on my head and knees to head butt him but that makes him the perfect blowjob height. The image makes me chuckle. The cop’s lip turns up into a snarl. “I know a lot of men. I know of one you may be interested in. This man was my father, real piece of work he was, a politician-” 

“You’ve told me about your father!” The cop’s voice echoed around the room but it hardly fazes me, I’m too focused on the little vein that’s dancing on the man’s temple. 

“Did I tell you about the time he split my cheek open?” I have to bite my tongue so I don’t burst out laugh at the little blue dance the veins doing. 

“Yes, you’ve told me that story three times now. You said you knew Moriarty. We want to know where Moriarty is.” 

I wrinkled my nose and shake my head. “Moriarty is boring. The man thinks he’s all that but he’s not. He’s boring. Calls himself a spider, what kind of gothic freak would make reference to himself and a spider.” 

The cop groaned and put his head in his hands. He took a couple deep breaths before looking back up at me. “You know, London might not have the death penalty but I doubt anyone would come looking for your body were you to come up missing. With your rap sheet? They’d probably be grateful you disappeared.” 

“That sounds like a threat officer. I don’t much like being threatened. I was a colonel you know. I know my rights. Did I tell you the story about the tiger? This is one of my favorites.” I smile when the cop stands and kicks his chair. 

“I’m going to ask you once nicely and then I’m taking you back to your cell. Where. Is. Moriarty?” I look up at him, meeting his eyes for the last time as the lights started to flicker around us. 

The lights only go out for a moment but it makes the room pitch black. When the came back up, I’m not in my seat. I’m standing behind the officer with my hands around his neck. The man doesn’t have a chance at winning this fight. His nails claw at my arms and I lick his ear before whispering “you don’t find Moriarty, Moriarty finds you.” 

I hear I panicked squeak then slam the man’s head against the metal table until my hands are warm with his blood. The smell is thick around me and the cotton pants I’m wearing start to feel tight in the groin. I adjust myself then start to strip the officer and put on his uniform.

The electricity must have faltered when the lights had gone out because everything outside of the interrogation room is in chaos. Prison guards are running back and forth trying to contain prisoners that had either escaped their cells or were currently trying to. Their screaming and pathetic mayhem allow me to slip easily by them. 

The stolen uniform helps me to blend in. It doesn’t fit too well, too tight in the crotch and too high on the ankles but it does its job. 

The only person to really take note of the stolen outfit is the girl at the first gate. She gives me a once over then starts shaking her head in fear. She must be new here. The thought is a cute one and I can feel my smile returning. I almost pity her but not enough to stop. Her panic gives me an opportunity and I take it. I reach through the sliding screen in the bulletproof glass and ring her pretty little neck. 

She drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes and all I have to do is grab her badge and open the gate. 

I stop at the guard washroom in the main quarters and quickly change out of these blood-drenched clothes. I find a uniform that fits me better and grab a nice pair of leather boots. As I approach the front of the complex I start to smell him. 

It’s a faint scent of sandalwood and pine mixed with hints of green apples. A smell I’m overly familiar with and that gets my heart pounding every time I’ve sniffed it. It’s sweet, like his face, but sharp, like his wit. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I find myself practically running after it. 

It’s intoxicating, consuming. Memories flood my mind. Memories of pain, pleasure, of laughing and running for my life. I’m reminded of long fingers caressing my head and stretching at my chest, of being told I’ve done a good job and will live to see another day. I’m also reminded of the salty scent of his blood. This isn’t as pleasant as my own blood, or the blood of the guard. It’s painful and distant. I remind myself that it’s not what I smell now. 

For now, it’s the fresh scent of cut apples, and of sandalwood and Christmas pine. I follow it to a parked car sitting just outside the gates. There’s no indication of who the car belongs to but the keys are in the ignition and the seats are still warm. 

I glance around to make sure no ones watching then sit down and start to drive. I don’t exactly know where I’m heading. It’s not like I have a lot to go home to but I remember the address to my apartment. It’s a place to start at least.


End file.
